Chapter Thirty-Seven
Diarmid woke atdawn, opening his door into the guest hall to find everyone else with their heads together at one of the four long trestle tables down the large center aisle. The moment his door shut, every last one of them looked at him.
Diarmid crossed his arms, raising a brow. “Well? Are you plotting my murder, then?”
Conan scoffed. “Do you think we’d be so obvious about it?”
“Yes,” Diarmid shot back. “Though I’m flattered you feel it would take—” he counted the people around the table, “eleven people to do me in.”
Cara was missing, he noted, the ache in his chest that had become a constant companion bloomed once more. He wished she were there, that he could see her. He wished to never see her again for the turmoil it wrought within him. More than either, Diarmid wished for an end to this wretched misery that followed him about. Hopefully it was but a temporary affliction.
“Are we not training today?” Diarmid asked, walking over to the table to join them. “Are we leaving?”
“We were debating that very thing,” Illadan answered.
Niamh frowned, looking up at Diarmid pleadingly. “I left my satchel in the guest cottage,” she groaned. “Diarmid, would you mind fetching it for me before you sit with us?”
Diarmid sensed some sort of ploy. “If there’s a man waiting in there to kill me, you’re burying him,” he told her.
“Thank you!” she called after him as he headed for the little cottage behind the halls.
At least this morn was interesting, if nothing else, he decided. Diarmid reached the little thatched-roof building in no time, since it sat only a few paces across the green. Throwing open the doors, he knew to expectsomething. This was, after all, nothing if not a contrived errand.
But he’d not expected to find Cara.
Sitting up on her knees on the fur-covered bed.
Completely naked.
Diarmid shut the door so fast he worried the walls might crack. He didn’t turn around to face her, instead leaning his with his arms against the door. There was no way he’d be able to have any kind of a conversation while she sat like that. Just a glimpse of her and he fought to control his lust.
“I owe you several apologies, it would seem,” she began. “I’m sorry that I thought the worst of you, when you continue to believe in the best in me. I’m sorry if I made you feel unloved or unwanted. And most importantly, I’m sorry that I chose Sitric at the harbor that day.”
“What of him?” Diarmid asked, looking down and back, but not so far that he could see her. “You signed the contract, did you not?”
“He burned it.”
Diarmid did turn then. “But what of Brian?” He took a step toward her. “What of your kingdom, Sitric’s new lands?” What of her? Had she truly changed her mind?
“If you accept my proposal, Illadan, Finn, and Cormac will return to Brian with a message from Sitric requesting alternate choices for his bride and explaining that Sitric and I were not a compatible match.”
He didn’t hear most of what she’d said, his heart had stopped after her first words. “If I do what?”
“If you accept my proposal,” she repeated. “Of marriage.”
Finally, he allowed himself to take a long, lingering look at her, his whole body growing hard. “I thought you wanted to slow things down.”
“I was scared,” she whispered, “because I realized that I love you.”
Diarmid sucked in a shaky breath, taking another step toward her. “Say it again.”
“I love you.”
“Well,” Diarmid grinned at her, the ache in his chest finally easing, “then maybe we should get married.”
The corners of her lips turned up until her mouth arched into the sweetest smile he’d ever seen. A real smile.
Diarmid took the last steps to the bed, climbing right on top of her and lowering her onto her back. “You have the most beautiful smile.”
